


sit down

by fuckingkinney



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Voyeurism, Watching, for anyone ~concerned~ about the original character, she's not an active character? i just felt like i should tag her, very much Bucky/Steve not bucky/someone else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingkinney/pseuds/fuckingkinney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky goes out at least twice a week and comes back with a girl on his arm. It never matters what they look like, how they act. All ages, shapes, sizes. That isn’t what matters to him; he just grins at them over the top of a glass and asks them back to his apartment, according to him. Then there comes the problem that <i>does</i> matter to him: </p><p>They have to be okay with being watched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sit down

Steve lost count of how long this has been going on for. It could have been a week, a month, even a _year_ and he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. It’s the same routine, every single time. 

Bucky goes out at least twice a week and comes back with a girl on his arm. It never matters what they look like, how they act. All ages, shapes, sizes. That isn’t what matters to him; he just grins at them over the top of a glass and asks them back to his apartment, according to him. Then there comes the problem that _does_ matter to him: 

They have to be okay with being watched.

It’s not the most normal of requests and Steve honestly has no idea how Bucky manages to do it. Charm can only get a person _so far_ , right? Wrong. He always came back with someone on his arm, a grin on his face and an aura of smugness around him.

Steve didn’t know _how_ it had started – just that Bucky had been going down on a girl in the bedroom they shared. He’d been late from an art class, stumbling back before it got too dark outside and had barely managed to dump all his stuff before he went rigid at the sight. Bucky had pulled away, smirked at him, then proceeded to tell him that if he was going to gawk, he might as well pull up a chair and watch. So Steve did and he can’t remember much else than Bucky’s mouth and the way he _grinned_ at him the moment he sat down.

It was another one of those nights and Steve couldn’t stop the nerves that ran through him if he tried. Bucky had been gone longer than usual, and it only lead him to believe that maybe he’d changed his mind. Either that or he’d not been able to help himself; fucked her in an alleyway on the way home, or _something_ else. Something that didn’t mean he had to let Steve watch him, didn’t have to let him down by telling him no. It’d been Bucky to start all of this, but that didn’t mean _he_ wanted it to continue.

Steve needed to distract himself, to do something that didn’t involve staring at the only clock in the room and panicking over whether or not Bucky was going to come back. His fingers are itching to move and thankfully, it doesn’t take long before he finds his sketchbook and pencils. He stares at blank paper, trying to find inspiration.

Bucky’s the only thing he can think about. It’s going to be the end of him.

His throat feels dry and he feels overwhelmed. He can’t focus on drawing. He can’t focus on _anything_.

As if on cue, there’s a key in the door and Steve all but jumps out of his skin. Bucky stumbles in, fingers threaded through someone else’s that he can’t see and there’s a grin on his face, skin flushed down his neck from either the alcohol in his system or—or something else Steve doesn’t want to think about. Steve can practically feel his lungs tighten as he struggles to breathe.

What if this is the time Bucky finds a dame that actually sticks around?

She’s short. Taller than him, but still smaller than the girls Bucky usually brings home. She has freckles covering the flush across her cheeks and a grin plastered on her face. She’s gripping onto Bucky’s hand tighter than he is her, and the realization makes his stomach turn. She’s blonde, hair to her shoulders and— and she’s gorgeous. He always brings back beautiful women and he can never tell which he’s more jealous of. 

“Hey Steve,” Bucky breaks through the silence with a grin still on his face and Steve can only watch as she presses against his shoulder, giggles against it, and he wonders what they’ve done already. “You okay?”

It occurs to him that he’s been staring, open and damn near _terrified_ at the thoughts blooming in his head. He clears his throat, nods almost frantically. “Yeah, yeah.” He can act clueless; as though he doesn’t know what is doing to happen.

His attention turns back towards his art book and he blinks hard, frustration bubbling up within him.

Feet move against the floor, but he doesn’t react. He’s not going to force himself into this. This isn’t his decision to make. It’s only when he feels fingers graze the back of his neck that he startles, glances over his shoulder to stare up towards him. 

Bucky has his mouth attached to her neck and her eyes are closed. His aren’t. Bucky’s staring at him with an intensity that he’s never seen before, and Steve would be lying if he said that he didn’t twitch, crotch stirring in too keen an interest. 

“Come on,” the words are spoken and Bucky’s voice is rougher than usual. His eyes remain connected to Steve’s, even as she hums a noise of agreement and is pulled along by Bucky to their bedroom. He remains in place for a moment, breathes in through his nose hard and out by his mouth slowly. He feels like he’s drowning, overwhelmed and unable to escape it all.

By the time he finally allows himself to move, Bucky already has her on her back, knees bent and feet pressing into his shoulders. A hand is dragging up her stomach, across pale skin until gripping a hold of her breast. She’s naked minus stockings, covered toes curling as Bucky mouths across skin that he can’t see as he lingers in the doorway.

He must hear movement, Steve decides as Bucky pulls away, smirk smug as they connect eyes over the top of her thigh. Steve has to remind himself that he can breathe. It remains that way until he’s settled in the chair in the corner of the room; a routine that is all too familiar to him now. He buries his nails into the palms of his hands, presses his screwed up fists into his knees and watches. 

He watches and pretends that he never wished it were him there; Bucky’s head between his legs, a grin on his face as he explores his body. Steve’s nostrils flare at the thought alone.

“You watching, Stevie?” Bucky’s voice is raw as he guides her thigh down, and it occurs to Steve that he doesn’t even _know_ her name. He didn’t ask, and they didn’t offer to tell him. All Steve can do is nod, stare like his life depends on it. 

A laugh is only answered in response and this time, it’s Steve’s toes that curl in his socks as Bucky grins at him, shameless, before his head is dropping again.

Steve has almost the perfect view from here and, even if he wanted to, he can’t look anywhere else. Bucky is _obscene_ as always. He makes it seem like a damn performance, and the way the blonde beneath him responds shows that it’s working. 

( _“It’ll be like a lesson, Steve. Better to see than get to it and have no idea what you’re doing, right?” Bucky had told him the first time. Steve had pretended he was naïve enough to agree that it was the reason they kept doing this._ )

His nails press into his palm harder and his arousal dampens at the pain that comes from it, hissing through his teeth. It’s not enough to distract, thankfully, and he forces himself to calm down as he hears Bucky hum from the bottom of the bed, a groan sounded as fingers press into his hair and tug insistently. Another noise is smothered, obviously from Bucky, and Steve allows it to echo in his mind. It’s one of the best things he can and has ever heard. 

He wants her to pull on his hair again, wants her to ride his face and _take it_ from him. That’s what Bucky likes, he’s discovered. It occurs to him that the knowledge proves how many times this has happened; how many women he’s seen with his best friend. Steve doesn’t allow himself to linger on that thought for too long.

Steve watches as Bucky grips a hold of her hips tighter, fingers leaving marks in their wake as he pins the girl to the bed. It’s a test: will she fight it, or will she submit to it? The sounding groan, muffled again, gives Steve his answer – followed by her hips pressing off the bed, frantic and insistent. Her noises are higher than they were when he walked into the room, desperate. 

He watches as she comes, head thrown back and mouth gaping in a silent gasp. Her hips twitch against Bucky’s face and his grip on her hips loosens, accepts it. His mouth moves to her inner thighs afterwards, lips close to what could be considered _affectionate_ as he eases her through her orgasm. Steve hates him. He hates this. He hates _wanting_ and continuing to do this, no matter what emotions it brings out of him.

He keeps coming back, because it’s the only way he will be able to see Bucky in this way. He’d be fooling himself to think that _he_ could have Bucky, in any way he wanted.

It’s not right, and Bucky knows it. He gives him this because it will keep him quiet. That’s it.

Bucky’s sitting up, pushing on his feet, and fumbling with the buttons of his trousers before she’s leaning forward to help get them off. His briefs follow quickly and Steve has to divert his gaze for a moment. He can’t look – he can’t watch this. He needs to leave. Only he feels like he’s glued to the same spot, unable to move no matter how much he wants to. 

It’s when he hears the bed creek that he looks up again, met with Bucky’s gaze instantly. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, tries to keep composure of himself. It takes a minute before his gaze flicks down towards the way the dame’s crouched on the bed, Bucky on his knees and leaning back against his calves. There’s a hand on the back of her head, encouraging but not forceful, and Steve has a hard time deciding where he wants to look between the motions of her head and Bucky’s open mouth. 

His noises are quieter than they were, top lip curled up into what could be considered a snarl in any other situation. His other hand lay by his side, curled into the sheets, as he keeps his gaze on Steve rather than the dame between his legs. Steve doesn’t know how he does it— _why_ he does it. 

“Come here.”

The words cut through his noises and it startles Steve more than he cares to admit. It takes a minute for it to sink in that Bucky _is_ actually talking to him. He blinks, eyes wide and lips parting in a silent question. The hand on the bed raises and he holds it out expectantly.

“Stevie—” The word is gasped this time, eyes closing for a moment and Steve swallows hard. 

It takes a moment before he’s finally able to find his bearings, footsteps quiet against the floor as he moves closer. Up close, he can see her face through her hair, eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration. Bucky’s fingers are tracing her shoulder in an abandoned pattern. Steve doesn’t know who he is more jealous of, in that moment.

“Kiss me.” It’s not a request, closer to a demand. His voice is rough and Bucky curls a hand around the back of his neck, draws him in. He leaves it to Steve to be the one to initiate it and the thought of it all makes him light headed.

This is new territory. They’ve never done this before. Bucky is looking at him with a gaze full of expectation, but there’s a challenge within it. One he can’t turn down.

He forces their mouths together harder than needed, uncaring in that moment as to whether it’s _too_ hard. Steve needs this, more than he can explain, more than he can tell the other. He suspects it’s obvious too – that’s why he’s giving in. It will be a onetime thing, he suspects. Steve tries not to think about that too much.

Fingers curl into his hair and _tug_ , Steve jerking forward into it before he can think about it, caught off guard. He breathes in sharply and his own hands are gripping onto Bucky’s shoulders, fingers digging into the skin. It’s all rough, desperate and forceful. It’s different to the way Bucky kisses dames, and he can’t tell if he likes it or not, but Bucky groans against his mouth and he knows that he’d rather do this, than anything else. As long as it keeps Bucky’s attention on him.

Teeth press into Bucky’s bottom lip, sharp and unexpected, and he revels in the way he gasps against his mouth, the quiet _‘fuck_ ’ that follows as Bucky’s mouth gapes open against his own as he comes.

No matter what the other man might say, that was because of him. Steve knows from the way Bucky looks at him afterwards, eyes affectionate and full of warmth that could set him on fire.

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly a dream that I had, and then I was in such a rush to get it down in words so I apologize that it's probably a bit sloppy. I wasn't sure how to end it, so I hope you all like it! Please let me know of any overly obvious grammar mistakes, ect, and please feel free to leave feedback!


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